


Sweet Tooth

by Erimentha



Category: Ebon Light (Visual Novel)
Genre: Chair Sex, Committed Relationship, Dessert & Sweets, Engagement, F/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erimentha/pseuds/Erimentha
Summary: Haron wants to spoil his fiancée; things quickly get out of hand.





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prism on the EL Discord! She made my MC in the Sims so I wanted to return the favour with a fic :)

Married… they’re going to be married. Alenca is going to be his wife – imagine it, _his_ wife – and he is going to be her husband. Every time Haron thinks of it, it hardly seems real. Just one week ago he’d proposed, and she’d accepted, and – and – and that’s when his logical mind vanishes into nothing. His happiness obliterates it.

He’s wanted to spoil her from the beginning. It desire came naturally, even then, but now he _can_. So he does.

“Haron!” The call of his name is intermingled with laughter; he smiles at the sound. She’s found his surprise. He’s still smiling when he follows the sound to the parlor, still smiling when he leans against the door frame and cocks his head innocently. His mother had been rather strict that if he wanted to marry, he needed to provide his bride with a home (okay, she had said a _nest_, but still), and sure, it was smaller than he was used to, but she’d been so happy when he gave her the key.

“You called for me?”

Alenca tears her eyes away from the table, which is nearly covered in all manner of sweet and delicate things. “Yes, I – “ she looks back at the table before stepping over to him. “You’re spoiling me, Haron.” 

“_Spoiling_ implies you don’t deserve it,” he singsongs, taking her hand to lead her back, “and you do.”

He pulls out a chair and guides her into it; the incredulity in her eyes is so strong he might have hesitated, were it not for her ever-present smile. “Haron,” she begins again, but he picks up a little piece of pastry and holds it out to her.

“Alenca,” he says, in much the same way. He moves another chair over to sit next to her. He takes her free hand in his, leaning in close. “You make me so happy, madralee, and I – I want to make you happy, as well.”

“You _do_.”

“Then indulge me?”

She looks over the table and considers the pastry in her hand, making a show of it, but he can tell from her eyes she’s already decided. There’s mischief, there, and it lights up her eyes in the most lovely way. “Only if you’ll let me share with you.”

It’s when he opens his mouth to reply that she springs into action, pushing the sweet into his mouth. It all but falls apart on his tongue, the buttery taste of the pastry followed by the tang of the fruit within. Her look of triumph warms his heart, infusing his laugh with affection. “Oh, no,” he says, when she reaches out for one of her own. “My turn.”

Alenca freezes for a moment, then leans back into her chair. “Do your worst.”

His worst is a chocolate-covered cookie – from what she’s told him of Edric, he knows she has very little experience with either – and he relishes her hum of satisfaction as she processes the flavours.

As she turns to look over the spread, he notices a few crumbs on her lip. It’s terribly distracting, even more so when she licks them away. It’s not as if they haven’t kissed before, or done _more_ before, but – well. Her every move catches his attention, every little gesture having the potential to drive him to distraction like this.

Still, he accepts the tart she offers him with a smile; he returns with a volley consisting of a little cream-filled truffle. His touch lingers on her lips, parting them slightly, before he leans back. “You had a bit of chocolate.”

She didn’t. He doesn’t even bother to look convincing. Alenca laughs, brushing her hair back as she settles in her seat. “Such a gentleman, you are.”

Haron is about to reply that he’s a _hungry _gentleman, eager to see her reply, when she picks up another truffle and raise it to her mouth. His disappointment must have been plain on his face because she laughs again. Carefully, her eyes bright, she places the sweet between her lips. But then she rises from her chair. He watches, eyes widening, as she trails one of her hands on the tabletop and closes the small distance between them.

She leans down, but he closes the distance between them, one hand cupping her face as his lips meet hers. Their contact melts the chocolate, sweetness exploding in his mouth. He barely registers that Alenca has settled in his lap until she breaks the kiss.

“My turn,” she tells him, a picture of mock-seriousness. Haron hums his agreement, one arm wrapping around her waist to keep her anchored where she is while he peruses his options. She seems to like the chocolate… but the tart surprise of one of those fruit filled pastries could be fun, too…

He settles on the pastry and puts it between his lips, as she had. Happiness sparks in her eyes; she’s pleased he caught on to her game. When she kisses him, though, he changes it, pushing the sweet into her mouth. If he traces her lips with his tongue afterwards… well, he has never been one for rules. She still has chocolate there, which counts for something, right?

“Ah –“ It’s a surprised noise, though he can’t tell if it’s from the treat or from him. Her tongue grazes his and he settles on both, the fruit’s tartness doing away with some of the lingering sweetness. Her arms wrap around his neck and he holds her close to him, nearly chest-to-chest. He’s damn near certain she can feel the effect only _this_ is starting to have on him.

Then she breaks the kiss, shifting a little, and he _knows_ she can. “Your turn?” It’s nothing but a whisper, but it makes his heart swell all the same. She’s given him options, as if he wouldn’t choose her every time.

“I know,” is his answer, before pulling her flush against him in another kiss. This time there is no pretending. He does like to be unpredictable, though, shallow and teasing and then deep, drawing out the kinds of sounds he never thought he’d hear from her. In between them, he adds, “I have my dessert right here.”

The next kiss doesn’t last long before she breaks contact. “You’re incorrigible –“ her weak accusation ends with a sigh; he’d taken advantage of the moment to move to her neck, hands shifting to her waist.

“You love it.” He punctuates the statement with a flurry of kisses to whatever exposed skin he can reach, basking in her laugh. One of her hands rests at the back of his head, the other combing through his hair, and he follows their gentle direction as he undoes the ties of her clothes.

Another advantage of their own home: being able to push away the fabric of her shirt without having to think of anyone but them.

The fire roaring in the hearth keeps the chill out of the air, so instead of shivering she leans against him. He allows it for a moment, covering her neck and shoulder with kisses, until he wants to feel her again. His palms settle on her hips, then skirt up to her chest.

“Haron,” she sighs, as he cups her breasts, fingers playful and teasing. There’s a quip about impatience on his tongue until she speaks again. “I missed you today.”

So much for playfulness. Haron groans into her neck, grip tightening, before shifting her in his lap. “I missed you too.” 

By the Heart, he _did_, he does every time he has to leave her side. Teasing her is entirely forgotten; he has to make up for his absence, however brief it was. He knows, someday, it’ll be easier to be apart from her, but not so long ago her life was in danger from within and without. That sort of worry is hard to break.

His hands drop to her thighs. She raises herself enough to help him and the rest of her clothing is done away with as much ease as her shirt had been. When she lowers herself, bare against him, she lets out a little laugh, fingers reaching for his collar. “Too many clothes.”

Haron’s inclined to agree. By the time she works his shirt off, he’s full of the impatience he was ready to tease her for. He can’t even fully undress without moving her, so he doesn’t dare; instead he loosens his pants enough to shove them down.

Before he can do anything else, Alenca kisses him with the same kind of desperation that’s pounding in his chest. “Need you,” she murmurs, and he nods, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I have you, madralee,” he replies, because he does. Hands on her hips, he half-guides, half-supports her up. One of her hands reaches down, grasping him – he gasps a breath and thinks _another time_ – and guiding him as she lowers herself.

His mind blanks at the feel of her. She’s warm, and wet, and before he can think about easing into her, she drops herself flush on him. A string of Gha’alian curses leave his lips.

“I told you.” She speaks and her lips just barely graze his. Her movements are slow; her smile borders on serene. “I missed you.”

It brings a laugh out of him, strained as it is, as he takes hold of her ass to help her. “I’ll go straight to the bedroom when I come home tomorrow, then.” It’s meant to be a tease, but she nods so eagerly at the idea his mind is filled with the image of her on the bed, naked and waiting for him. He adjusts his grip, huffing a breath as he rocks into her. Very much _not _a joke anymore.

“And in the morning,” Alenca starts, but Haron kisses her before she can go any further. Any more from her and moving her to the table would become a very real possibility. She doesn’t seem to mind the interruption. The hand that guided him shifts to her clit as she rolls her hips, all serenity gone.

The position means he has to rock and grind more than really _move_, but he doesn’t mind; how can he, with the light of his life on his lap, pleasure-hazed and desperate? Her breath coming in little pants against his lips, moans caught in her throat… the effect is close to hypnotic, driving to lift her himself. Her free hand grips his bicep to anchor herself, but the touch goes to his head, instead, and he snaps his hips up hard to close the distance.

“Hah –“ Alenca’s hand falters a moment as she tries to speak. “Haron – again –“

He answers by holding her hips above him, closing the distance himself; his reward is a cry as her head falls back. He knows she’s close, feeling her starting to squeeze him, and it would be nothing short of delusional to think he won’t be far behind. With another huff of breath Haron shifts to kiss her neck, and shoulder, and ear, interspacing the affections with little bites, and some not-so-little. He can feel her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

“Don’t stop, please –“ she sobs, nails digging into his skin. The idea had never crossed his mind. It takes only a few more thrusts before she reaches her peak with another cry of his name, breath coming in shuddering gasps. With both hands she cups his face and kisses him, still trembling, and that, with the way she’s tightened around him, is enough to push him over the edge.

When the fog clears he kisses her again, this time gently, pulling out of her as he does. “Wonderful,” he coos, “so lovely,” in between kisses, “my madralee.” Then he leans back in the chair, pulling Alenca to lean on him. For a time they relax there, their hearts slowing, bodies cooling.

Then Haron shifts, reaching for a chocolate, and pops it into his mouth. Alenca laughs, utterly boneless against him. “You like your dessert, hm?”

“I _do_.” He grins at her, wrapping both arms around her back and looking her in the eye, so there’s no mistaking his meaning. “The sweets are nice, too.”


End file.
